


I'll Text You When I Land

by december_dream



Series: Bad Influence [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, At the same time, Break up sex, Chocolatier Tendou Satori, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drinking, F/M, Fighting, Flashbacks, Fluff, Guilt, Make up sex, Post-Timeskip, Praise Kink, Smoking, Soft sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, a single ohshc reference, i'm in love with tendou, if that makes sense, poorly written smut, the reader has a cat!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/december_dream/pseuds/december_dream
Summary: Okay. Let’s get one thing straight: it’s not that you expected your cliche high school romance to stand the test of time - you hoped it would, but you knew that was unrealistic. So what happens when your good karma pays off? He’s back in town and an opportunity has presented itself.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Reader
Series: Bad Influence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158638
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	I'll Text You When I Land

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so this is technically a sequel to a oneshot i wrote a while back, it's in no way required reading to understand this but if you want the lore you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608963)

Your phone vibrates for the nth time in five seconds. You want to check it, you really do - and you would’ve by now if your hands weren’t full of groceries. The elevators out of whack in your building and you’re forced to take the stairs up _four flights of stairs_ to your apartment with the incessant buzzing in your back pocket (you almost hope it runs out of battery so it’ll just _stop_ ). You don’t even really know what it’s about - there was an email that came in last time you checked and you had put your phone in your back pocket to carry your groceries in, the moment your hands were full your phone started ringing off the hook. 

You’ve gotten used to the quiet that comes along with your home; there was once a time when the silence killed you (it’s deafening without your ex there) but you’ve acclimated in the years that you’ve been alone - though the occasional get together with your friends allows it to seep in just slightly, but Semi and Ōhira make a point of doping by often enough that it doesn’t get too bad (Ushijima makes a very rare appearance every so often as well!). Your orange tabby cat Hikaru helps, too (the little bastard).

You opt to put away the groceries first so your frozens don’t thaw, throwing yourself onto the couch once you’re done and twisting awkwardly to fish your phone out of your back pocket. As you’re pulling it out it starts constantly buzzing, indicating a call.

His voice comes through as soon as you accept the call, barely giving you enough time to raise the phone to your ear. “Why aren’t you answering our texts?” Ōhira’s voice is just a little too loud in your ear, making you wince.

“Calm down, I just got in - what’s going on, anyways?” you hum, deciding to put him on speaker and lay your phone beside your ear, “I don’t feel like scrolling through miles of texts just to figure it out.”

“Shiratorizawa reunion,” you don’t really care - high school wasn’t enjoyable until the last year, “Tendō’s coming back for it.” Now that grabs your attention. It’s one thing if you and your ex leave on bad terms - you can hate each other's guts and that’ll be the end of it. 

_However_ . It’s something completely different when it’s an amicable departure - especially when you aren’t sure those feelings went away entirely; _especially_ when you’ve lost touch.

When you were willing to try and make it work long distance.

“(L/n), are you still there?” Ōhira asks - _how long had you been thinking about Satori?_

“Hm? O-oh, yeah - are you going?” 

“Yeah, we all are,” he replies, “we’d all love it if you came as well.”

You snort, “Last time you all wanted me to come to an event Satori and I had a fight.” A bell jingles beside you before Hikaru jumps and lands on your stomach, causing you to exhale sharply and grunt quietly. Ōhira almost asks if you’re okay, but you beat him to it - “Hikaru just jumped on me.” One hand comes down to pet the ball of orange fur, rubbing behind his ear and listening to him purr.

“Say hi to him for me,” he chuckles, “and if I recall correctly, that fight was the reason you and Tendō finally got together.” You pause before speaking again, only feedback heard on the line.

“He’s really coming?” You ask quietly, “Flying in from Paris?”

“Yes, and you’d know that if you checked your phone,” you hear a door click shut on the other end of the line, “Semi said we could meet up at his place for a get together before the actual reunion. Anyways, I gotta go - I’m going for a run.”

“Now?” You tap your screen and glance at the time, “It’s seven-thirty, it’ll be dark soon.” You furrow your brow, noting how sunset was already upon the city as you look out your window.

“And?”

“Whatever, text me when you get home.” You lift Hikaru up and place him on the floor so you can get up - it’s time to start dinner and he’ll be bugging you for food in a few minutes anyways.

“What’s the point if you don’t check your phone?”

“Then perish, I guess.” You shrug, even though he can’t see you - he laughs and says goodbye, and you give him a proper one too, before hanging up. Hikaru starts pawing at your leg and you reach down, running your thumbs over the top of his head. 

“Alright, buddy, what’s for dinner?” He just purrs in response, tilting his head, “You’re right - I should put on the frozen steamed buns.” You nod, standing up and making your way to the kitchen, pulling the box out of the freezer and taking out two buns to let thaw. 

It’s been at the very least a year since you spoke to Satori - it’s not there was a falling out or anything, texts were just exchanged less frequently. You can’t even remember what the last conversation was. And it’s not that you _never_ talk, it’s just that it’s only in the group chat containing the former volleyball third years (still affectionately titled “ _Volleyball nerds + (L/n)_ ”). You suppose part of the reason had been the time difference of eight hours; the reasoning doesn’t make you feel any better about falling out of touch.

Hikaru nuzzles your calf begging for food (he’s not starving, just impatient and melodramatic). You kneel down, putting a scoop of food into his dish - there's a little bit of melon leftover from this morning that you’ll give him after, the bananas you bought today aren’t quite ripe enough for him to have. Maybe he can have some cheese at the end of the week. You notice his water dish is empty and fill it from the Brita filter in your fridge. 

Your own dinner should be thawed enough by now. You move on autopilot, putting your food in a container, then the microwave, before pulling out your phone to satisfy your curiosity - _what had your last conversation with Satori been?_

You wish it took some scrolling - that his name wasn’t at the top of the recent conversations tab in your phone. Okay, so it’s not at the very top - the group chat is (it would seem that Semi’s moved to a different topic, as texts are still being exchanged between him and Ushijima, surprisingly enough) - but still, he’s second from the top. Is your thumb trembling? No, it’s your whole hand. Your entire body? You think your knees might give out - _is that weird_ ? You shouldn’t be this nervous when you can see his message - _are you going to the reunion?_ It’s only six words; then again he’s made you shake with less.

The microwave beeps before you can press your thumb to the screen and you sigh in relief because that buys you at least a bit of time. The buns send a pleasant tingle of warmth through your fingertips as you quickly transfer them to a plate. You know you’ll just end up snacking on something later as you look at your dinner - can’t be helped now. With the way your home is laid out, you’re able to view the television from your spot in the kitchen, and thankfully you had put the remote on the counter behind your couch because you didn’t want to fish around for it. 

Flicking the tv on, you’re delighted to find that it was on the sports channel from last night - and they’re showing highlights from the Adlers game you had missed the other night (you always record Ushijima’s games in case you can’t watch them live, you’ll have to check your PVR and watch the full game later). As the narrator goes over number twenty and his setting techniques, you go back to your phone, biting the bullet and pressing Satori’s name before you can overthink it. Now that it’s open, you can force yourself to write a reply so you don’t leave him on read.

> **_You:_ ** _Yeah - are you going to Semi’s?_

You hit send without reading it over, doing so once the message had sent and breathing easier once you’d found that you hadn’t managed to screw the six words up. The thought bubble appears after the indication that he’d read your message.

Then it disappears.

Then reappears.

And disappears.

And reappears.

> **_Satori:_ ** _Sure am ;)_

Should that winky face make a dumb smile break out across your face? Probably not. It’s still there, though. An idea pops into your head and you’re typing before you can process how it may not be the best idea.

> **_You:_ ** _Which hotel are you staying in?_
> 
> **_Satori:_ ** _Haven’t sorted that out yet_
> 
> **_You:_ ** _Stay with me, then_

You’ve hit send without thinking (tends to happen when you type a message without thinking). 

> **_Satori:_ ** _I don’t wanna put you out_
> 
> **_You:_ ** _It’s fine_
> 
> **_You:_ ** _You’re not coming home and staying in some hotel_
> 
> **_You:_ ** _Besides I have more than enough room_

The thought bubble appears.

Then it disappears.

Then reappears.

And disappears.

And reappears.

> **_Satori:_ ** _You’re sure?_
> 
> **_You:_ ** _100%_

You don’t know it (how could you on another continent), but Satori’s coworkers are asking him about the dumb smile and blush that have taken residence on his face.

You take a bit of your dinner, smiling as he relents before you remember why you had originally gone to Satori’s contact. You see the message from well over a year ago - your stomach drops and your smile vanishes. You had meant to answer it, you really had. Now you just feel like shit.

> **_Satori:_ ** _Semisemi told me you got the job - congrats :)_

* * *

You almost regret agreeing to pick him up from the airport. Semi had offered to drive him to your place after discovering that his flight got in at four-thirty in the morning, but you had declined.

_“You need your beauty sleep more than I do,” you’d spoken into the phone one day during your lunch break at work, “doesn’t make sense for us both to be sleep-deprived.”_

Of course, now that you’ve had to get up at two and drive for over an hour to get to Sendai Airport, you're not so sure Semi needed his sleep after all. Now that you’re standing in front of the exit gate with a piece of printer paper reading ‘Guess Monster’ (you had planned to use neon bristol board and glitter, but no one should be subject to that this early) you’re nervous. You’re actually nervous to see the former prick of Shiratorizawa. You could laugh.

A caffeinated beverage sits on the floor beside you as you scroll through a digital copy of Jump on your phone - Satori had sent you a text before boarding his flight that he’d text you when he was through customs. 

> **_Satori:_ ** _Denied at customs._

Your eyes widen and you have to fight back an actual groan. You’re both too tired and too embarrassed to get up and leave now - you’ll wait until the flood of people come through the gate, watch loved ones reunite as you stalk back to your car (and who could blame you if a couple tears slipped out); on second thought, you realize you’d rather wait for everyone to dissipate upon seeing everyone come through the gate. Of course, Satori would be denied at customs - he’s still a delinquent at heart (knowing him, he’d probably made a joke that didn’t bode well with the customs officer). He can be so fucking stupid sometimes - how can someone so good at reading people say the worst possible thing in any and every situation!

“You fucking moron,” you mumble as you stare at the text. You genuinely can’t formulate a response. 

“That’s not very nice,” a voice comes from above. It had that teasing lilt to it (the one you missed), but they're tired. You look up - to the left first, then the right. He’s leaning on the wall that you’re sitting against, a stupid smirk on his face. His luggage in tow; a backpack on his back and a duffle bag on the floor. There're dark circles under his eyes. 

His hair is buzzed. 

You don’t know how to feel about that. 

Though you suppose you don’t have a say in the matter.

“What’s the matter - cat got your tongue?” He’s too smug for your liking (or is he, considering that was one of the reasons you fell for him). You want to call him out for scaring you like that, but you can’t quite find the words.

So instead, you hold up the piece of printer paper, looking up at him like he’s speaking another language. 

He stares down at you, equally unsure of what to say. Then he starts laughing - that laugh that used to fill your house in your third year of high school. That laugh that's contagious. He kneels down, pulling you to his chest with strength you didn’t expect him to have retained. Your arms loop around him as well, laughs bubbling up in your throat as he squeezes you tighter, face nuzzling into your shoulder as he all but slumps against you. The short hairs tickle and scratch at your jaw and neck. You decide you like it. 

Yeah. 

You like the buzz cut.

He sleeps for almost twelve hours, on and off - weather in the passenger's seat of your car or in your bed (which he was too tired to argue against taking for the time being). Hikaru paws at the door sporadically, an occasional meow because there's someone here he doesn’t recognize. You pull him away each time (if you’re awake, that is), and put him back on the couch with you. It’ll be cramped for Satori’s stay of seven days once you blow up the air mattress for yourself in your living room, but oh well.

Your bedroom door opens at roughly three-thirty. Satori shuffles through, yawning and stretching before he rubs the sleep from his eyes. A jingling catches his attention. A cat sits on the coffee table in front of your napping form. He thinks you look adorable.

Satori kneels in front of the orange cat, holding his hand out for the little thing to sniff. He takes it as a good sign when it nuzzles his fingers, his other hand going to its collar. “Hey there... Hikaru,” he hums, both hands coming up to run his thumbs over the cat's ears. Hikaru purrs, blinking slowly.

“So how’s she been?” He shifts to fully sit, “You keeping the quiet out for me?” Satori’s eyes shift to you, the steady rise and fall of your chest, “Does Semi come around much? Ōhira?” Hikaru removes his face from Satori’s hands, hopping into the man's lap.

“Is she happy?” He knows Hikaru can’t respond, but in his mind, he likes to believe that the tabby says yes. You stir in your sleep and he decides to shut his mouth. He looks around your apartment - he hadn’t had the chance earlier while you were leading his sleep-deprived body into your bed.

There's some photos on your wall (a few ticket stubs are attached to a frame with Semi and Ōhira - he thinks it might be from one of Semi’s concerts), the television plays quietly behind him, the low hum of your washer and dryer in the corner - it’s a pleasant space. 

What he opts to zero in on is your shirt. He recognizes it from his third year; he thought it’d been lost between here and Paris. He knew he’d given it to you one night after a get-together - you’d thrown up during the evening and you’d fallen behind on laundry (he’d almost laughed when he found out that you of all people fell behind on your chores). Either way, he had a tee-shirt on under his sweater and had given it to you. You’d been all giggly, telling him that he had to buy you dinner before seeing you naked; he reminded you that he’d bought you dinner on many occasions and that you could change yourself before waiting outside your door for you to put the shirt on.

Yeah, you could be real cute sometimes.

You turn in your sleep, one of your arms falling off the couch - you seem to be having a good dream, based on the dopey smile on your face. You mumble something incomprehensible.

“Yeah, I like to think she’s happy,” Satori says, looking down at Hikaru. He’s fallen asleep in his lap.

He can’t stop the soft smile from spreading across his face at the sight of you - his _princesse_. 

He thinks that his week with you is going to be amazing.

You wake up in your bed, the smell of something cooking in the kitchen.

It feels right in the most painfully bittersweet way imaginable.

* * *

Oh yeah, this is what you need - a message from Semi had come in during your lunch. ‘ _Drinks at my place tonight_ ’.

You know this is what you need when you get home, greeted by Satori and Hikaru. You know this is what you need when you drag Satori out the door and two blocks over to Semi’s building.

He’s ecstatic - hasn’t seen Semi and Ōhira since… well since he left. They talk constantly, on the phone or by text, the occasional online game but it’s not the same as being able to playfully shove each other or throw your arms around them. 

It’s also weird to get drunk over the phone together, especially when Satori would be day drinking.

Things aren’t quite as he remembers when he sees you tackle Semi into a hug when he opens the door; yes, you’d been a very affectionate person back in high school once you opened up, but it was more the way that the former setter hugged you back - arms tight around your middle and nearly hoisting you off the ground - it leaves a bitter taste in Satori’s mouth. It’s forgotten, though, as Semi welcomes the pair of you into his apartment.

You’re already making your way towards the living area where Ōhira and Ushijima are, giving them both hugs that are just as enthusiastic as the one you’d given Semi. Ōhira’s response is just as tight, but he doesn’t attempt to lift you up (Semi only does that because he likes the flair of it) - Ushijima is surprisingly affectionate, not hugging you back quite as tightly as the others but you can tell he cares; it’s nice, you haven’t seen him in a while.

And then there're four teenage boys in place of the adult men. They practically dog pile onto Satori, hollering and shouting (well, Semi and Ōhira are - Ushijima’s a lot more subtle, but you know that smile on his face means he feels like a teenager again). You scoff light-heartedly at their antics, making your way to the couch and flopping down. The guys eventually follow suit, Ushijima and Ōhira have taken up in a leather chair and bean bag respectively, leaving you and Satori on the small couch and Semi on the floor (he likes it there, he’s said on multiple occasions). 

Having someone else with you on the couch is odd - you’re used to stretching out and laying down, having the guys dote on you when you inevitably have too much - but with Satori here you’re forced to actually sit up, thigh touching firm thigh; God it makes you warm.

“(L/n),” Semi hands you a gin and tonic before passing Satori a beer. 

It’s like you’re back in the basement of Semi’s childhood home, mostly because you down the drink without thinking twice. You need something to take the edge off - something to distract you from being so fucking close to Satori.

“Long day at work?” Ōhira smirks. Bastard - he knows that you still hold a torch for Satori; why else would he check that you knew he was coming?

You narrow your eyes at him, corners of your mouth slightly turned down in a scowl, “You could say that.”

Semi makes a point of distracting you by handing you a bottle of water, reminding you to stay hydrated, “Can’t have you getting wasted before take out gets here,” he ruffles your hair.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine,”

“Don’t be stubborn, drink the water.” Satori says before taking a swig of his own drink, “I’m not carrying you home.”

Something about the way he says it - the rest of the guys are snickering at his follow up comment, but his initial words… they make you feel like you’re suffocating in the best way possible. You exhale shakily before taking a swig of water.

To your merit, you manage to stay sober until the takeout arrives, and even through the meal, you keep your wits. It’s after the styrofoam dishes have been cleared (when Semi goes and breaks out some cheap tequila) that’s when you go off.

Doesn’t help that he challenged the group to see who could down five shots faster. Of course you’re not going to back down to Semi’s open challenge - it’s an excuse to destroy your liver without Satori discouraging you (he couldn’t without Ōhira and Semi calling him a buzzkill). Semi beats you, having done this more often than you do, but you’re more than happy with the buzz you feel soon after.

And as the alcohol hits you, you splay out more - legs draping over top of Satori’s, head in his lap when your eyelids felt like they were weighed down by boulders, crawling into his fucking lap at one point (he used to hold you like this, why wouldn't he now?). 

He does hold you, holds you as you convulse with laughter, as you played with the woven bracelet he always had on his wrist, as you take a power nap with your face in the crook of his neck - he thinks he can feel some drool on the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind - you’ve had a habit of doing it since you’d had your wisdom teeth removed.

It’s one-thirty in the morning when he decides you’ve had enough. Ushijima (a sleepy drunk) is passed out in his chair, while a sober Ōhira convinces a very much wasted Semi to _not_ drunk text that girl he’s been talking to; you’re hanging off of a slightly tipsy Satori, face once again in his neck.

“‘T’s warm here,” is what you’d said when he asked you about it. He thinks he feels your lips brush just a little too deliberately against his neck, but you’re drunk off your ass and even if that wasn’t the case he knew you’d both only regret it later.

But, _fuck_ , if he doesn’t want to.

He still dreams about you - about how you looked when you would lie together ( _yes_ in the biblical sense) before he left, how you looked ethereal; he wakes up all sweaty, gross, and disgusted with himself because you're not his anymore and it’s because of him that you’re not. He dreams about other times too - the time you convinced him to help cook breakfast for the two of you (you both got distracted and burned the food, so you went out to eat instead), the time he dragged you to some convention and you’d surprised him by dressing up, when you had your wisdom teeth pulled and told him you loved him over and over again before the laughing gas wore off, when you’d made him soup that time he developed a chest infection, and when he’d tried and failed to make you some when he had passed said infection on to you (he had ended up grabbing instant ramen for you both after you had tried to eat his awful soup); he dreams of the soft times with you but he feels sick when he knows that his favourite dreams are of the raunchy variety.

You cling to him the entire walk home, giggling into his neck. You’re so soft in his arms, so doe-eyed (even if he can’t see them, he knows). Despite your drunkenness… he misses this, carrying you home after a night at Semi’s, pulling you through your front door.

“C’mon, princess,” he says the nickname because he knows you won’t remember, “let’s get you changed.”

“But _-hic-_ I wanna cuddle ‘nd sleep with you out here.” You finally pull your face from his neck. He was right, you are doe-eyed.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, cupping your cheeks as his heart breaks, “if you get yourself into pyjamas, and drink the glass of water I bring you I’ll lay with you until you fall asleep in your bed.” You shouldn’t be sleeping on an air mattress.

You perk up instantly, wobbling slightly as you do so. You nod eagerly in agreeance as you float off to your bedroom - this is the second night he’s gotten you to sleep in your own bed; he sees it as a win. 

He refuses to let you sleep on an air mattress in your own home.

He can hear you babbling on and on to Hikaru as he stabilizes himself against the counter, exhaling shakily; he downs his own glass of water first before filling another from you - he sets it on your table before digging through his bags (he’d dragged them out here last night under the guise of saying they’d be in your way while getting ready for work). He gets changed out there, just tipsy enough to not really care if someone can see him through your windows.

He finds you half changed, crouched down and speaking with your beloved cat. You’ve got track pants on, only your bra covering your top. It’s nothing new to him but he still feels wrong about it. 

“Drink and then I’m putting a shirt on you.” He extends the glass to you, watching as you greedily down the contents before leaning back on your hands, looking up at him. He has to hoist you onto the bed because he knows you would’ve stayed on the floor all night without his help.

“Arms up,” he hums, watching as you enthusiastically comply, arms straight up and stiff as boards as he slides your nightshirt over your head. Then comes the part he’s mostly dreading - taking your bra off; it’s not because he doesn’t know how (he’s done it enough to know definitively), he does it because you complain about the wires poking your arms while you sleep and how it makes your back break out.

His fingers are trembling as they softly crawl under your shirt, searching for the hooks to undo; you slump forward, wrapping your arms around him. His torso feels tight. He finally unhooks it pulling away from your warmth and stuttering out something along the lines of ‘get into bed’.

You don’t argue, getting slightly tangled as you try to slip your bra off but eventually throwing it across the room and throwing your blankets to the end of the bed. “‘Tori,” you whine, making hands at him that make his heart ache.

“Yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming.” He crawls in beside you, pulling your blankets up with him as he lies back. It’s just platonic cuddling - that's all it is. His head hits your pillows and you all but scurry on top of him, nuzzling your face into his neck once more. You’re talking about something, he can’t quite decipher what with the mix of your mumbling, slurring, and speaking into his neck so he just hums every so often acting like he knows what you’re saying.

“I adore you.” You say, unstably pushing yourself up and teetering as you stare down at him. You’re not giggling anymore, you’re serious.

His mouth presses into a line, staring up at you. He wants to tell you he loves you - and he almost does but you collapse into his chest and he thinks there's a new drool spot forming on his shirt. There's soft snores coming from you. How can you adore him when he left you? How can he tell himself he loves you? 

He should’ve left when he felt drowsy, should’ve trudged back out to the living room and crawled onto the air mattress, miserable as shit. 

But he’s selfish so he lays in your bed that night, scratching lightly over your back. 

* * *

The entire next day, you can’t stop thinking about the day he initially left. You’d known he was leaving for weeks but insisted that the formal break up happen at the airport - the final goodbye, if you will. You wanted to hold on to him for as long as you could, and he insisted that he wasn’t going to hold you back.

_The car is painfully silent - Satori’s parents (nice enough to let you come for the drive) sat in the front. Satori’s hand is on top of yours, thumb running along it._

_He refuses to look at you, you can’t bring yourself for more than a glance at him. His hair’s still long - no longer gelled up like high school, though. You know your eyes are watering. There's two hours until his flight; you had to limit yourself to a half an hour good-bye otherwise you weren’t sure if you ever would._

_His mother is tearful - saying her good-bye’s with sprinklings of reminders, ‘don’t forget to wash your bedsheets,’, ’remember to eat your vegetables,’, ’don’t spend all your money on Jump,’ and many, many more, each replied to with a ‘yes, mom,’ or ‘I know, mom,’. He doesn’t want her to worry, but he knows she will - he thinks he’ll call her once a week at the very least, just to try and ease her mind._

_His father is more firm, but still sad - his eyes are misty if you look closely enough. He tells his son to make good choices and work his hardest. “But most importantly,” he says, “be happy.” Satori hopes he can make his father proud, he hopes to God that he can. He’ll make sure to talk to him when he calls his mom. He wonders if this bittersweet taste will ever fade from his mouth._

_His parents say they’ll wait in the car for you, and to take as much time as you need - they’re in no rush._

_You walk him to security. The line is short. He decides he’ll wait with you out here instead of near his gate._

_“So, princess,” he brings the back of your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it, “we’ve got about fifteen minutes.”_

_“We can still do this, we don’t have to-to-” your throat is tightening, it hurts to speak._

_His eyes are watering, one hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb running along your cheekbone. You lean into it, pressing a kiss to the heel of his palm. “I don’t want you to put everything on hold for me,” he says, “I have to go, I don’t want you to follow just for me. You’ve got your life here.”_

_“Please don’t go.” You know it’s useless to say. His flights paid for, he’s put his luggage through - he’s only got his carry on with him. He’s got a place waiting for him in Paris. You can feel fat tears rolling down your cheeks and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “Look at me,” you chuckle, “I sound so desperate.”_

_“You’re a lot of things, (Y/n), but desperate isn’t one of them,” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. His lips are pressed to the top of your head, “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”_

_You cling to him, finally letting sobs rake your body. You don’t want him to leave, but more than that you can’t do with him breaking up with you. He coos at you, one hand holding the back of your head as his other rubs circles on yours back._

_“You’re going to be just fine, you hear?” He doesn’t want you to know how hard he’s trying to hold back his own tears, but you can feel the uneven breathing in his chest - his whole torso tightens when he’s upset, it always has. “I’ll be your best friend if you’ll be mine.”_

_“What if you already are?” You feel like you’re going to collapse. He doesn’t respond, instead holding you, letting you sob into his chest while he lightly rocks back and forth. He wishes he could save time in bottles because he’d stay here with you forever, even if he feels like his heart is breaking with every second._

_His heart aches when he finally lets go. His smile is small, the type that shows just how pained the person wearing it is. “I think we should break up.”_

_You both knew the words were coming, you saw them from a mile away and still, your chests ache and mouths go dry while your eyes get wetter._

_“Me too,” you manage to croak out, not because you believe it, but because it’s what he wants to hear. You can’t beg anymore, this has been coming since he told you he was leaving - you had insisted on holding out this long._

_“I’ll text you when I land,” he promises._

_You can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, “Just one more kiss? Please.” Because the one he gave you last night wasn’t enough, because the one he gave you this morning wasn’t enough, neither was the one before you got in the car - you don’t think any amount of kisses from Satori could make this better._

_He knows it’ll make this worse. But he can’t help himself - he’s greedy. He softly presses his lips to yours; it’s desperate, salty tears caught in the crossfire. You cling to him, wanting to commit him to memory._

_And when he pulls away, he does so completely, not allowing you to hold onto him any longer._

_“I love you,” you say in some final desperate attempt for him to stay._

_“I love you,” he repeats. Then he walks through the doors to security. He knows if he hadn’t left your embrace he would be figuring out ways to get out of this mess (he could cancel his apartment and flight, or better yet, sneak you onboard) but he knows he can’t. You have to live your life here in Japan, and he has to live his in France._

_He thought you’d both wracked up some better karma._

Your coworker taps your shoulder, asking if you’re okay. 

You’d spent the day thinking about him. 

You haven’t done that in years. You don’t think you’ve done that since he left. You can’t stop thinking about how you clutched the airport bathrooms basin to keep yourself up - your knuckles turned white as you tried to reign yourself back in. Your drive home, you can’t stop thinking about the drive with his parents, how you forced yourself to save face for the drive. He wouldn’t be seeing them this trip, they’d booked a cruise earlier in the year and had a month left to it - no issue, though, they’d had a stop in Le Havre and Satori had made the trip out to see them. 

You’re amazed you didn’t crash your car with how distracted you were. 

You can smell something when you walk in, and a quick peek in the kitchen shows Satori at the stove. Hikaru’s perched on the counter across from the stove, and they appear to be having a lively conversation.

“So then Agnès turned to Enzo and started complaining about the passion fruit filling for the chocolate bonbons because he filled them too much - oh, you’re home.” Satori turns to you and sends a smile.

This whole thing feels like hell.

Hikaru trots across the counter to stand in front of you, nudging your arm with his head.

“Hey, I thought we were talking,” Satori whines, throwing his head back.

You run your fingers across the cat's scalp, “Hikaru isn’t much for conversation,” you glance over at Satori, “he’s much better at listening.” 

Satori hums, going back to the stove and stirring something in a pan.

Dinner is fine, though it's hard for something to go wrong when no ones talking. You wonder if this was a mistake - inviting Satori to stay with you; it’s hard to think that it's not when your heart aches every time you look at him. 

“What do you keep checking the time for?” Since dinner ended, you’ve checked it, what, a dozen times? All while loading the dishwasher. That makes it sound like he’s watching you - he’s not some creep! 

Okay, fine, he’s watching you. He can’t help it.

“Oh Ushijima’s game is coming on in,” - again you check the time - “five minutes.” Hikaru’s already sitting on the couch. You throw the last fork in before shutting the machine with your hip, practically running to sit on the couch. 

Satori quirks and eyebrow, “You watch all his games?” He sits on the opposite side of the couch so that Hikaru is between the two of you.

“Well, yeah,” you shrug, “I can’t be there physically for him or Ōhira, so I watch them live when I can.” You turn on the tv, flipping around until you get to the sports network. 

“Who’s he playing tonight?”

“MSBY - they’ve got the other half of that quick attack duo from the Miyagi prefecture finals, the ginger.” The (now adult) Karasuno graduate is easy to spot as the teams do their warm-ups, hyper as ever with number twelve - is it possible to hear number fifteen groan without audio?

He chuckles, “Yeah, I remember Hinata.” He recognizes Bokuto, Sakusa, and Miya (was that one Atsumu or Osamu?) vaguely from high school matches and training camps - maybe even a bender one weekend that he _knows_ he never told you about (he didn’t do anything that’d hurt you, it’s more that he proclaimed his love for you over and over again and Semi had it on tape). 

The game’s in full swing and you wonder if Ushijima regrets getting drunk last night because throughout his warm-ups he seemed considerably more irritable, but now with that killer spike of his, the Adlers look like they’re giving MSBY a run for their money. 

“We didn’t have to end things.” You say during a commercial break. You don’t know where it came from. You’re petting Hikaru, watching an ad for toothpaste play, and the words just slip out.

Satori tenses, gaze flicking from the screen to you. “We wouldn’t have worked,” he mumbles - because he truly believes you wouldn’t have, regardless of how much he wanted things to work out.

“I would’ve worked for it.” Your eyes stay on screen - you can’t look at him; your accumulative sadness morphing into something red-hot.

“What if you got tired of it?” His body shifts to you fully, one foot coming up to rest on the cushion and his knee bending against his chest, “It’s not easy with an eight hour time difference - and the distance is a bitch, too.”

“I would’ve made the trips, Satori,” you huff, “fuck, I would’ve moved to Paris if you asked me to.” Hikaru senses the tension, hopping off the couch and trotting into the kitchen.

“And what if someone else came along - someone closer?” He knew how his words sounded: accusatory. _That_ makes your head snap in his direction.

You’re furious.

“Are you implying something?” 

“I’m not implying anything,” his eyes narrow, “I’m just saying that it’s easy to slip up when nobody's around.” The match comes back on in the background, completely forgotten about. “You’re the one who stopped responding, you’re the one who stopped putting an effort into the friendship, not me.”

“And I’m sorry for that, but I’m also the one who begged you to stay with me.” You can feel the beginning of tears - _fuck_ this is high school all over again. “You are so fucking selfish - you know that?”

“Oh, I’m the selfish one?” He gets up, so of course you do too. “I broke things off because you deserved better than a breakup text once we realized we were in over our heads.”

“I think you were scared.” You inch closer to him - you’re not the pushover you were in high school, you’re not just going to roll with his punches.

“I don’t get scared.” He inches a breath's width away from you - you can feel his quick breaths puff against you - he’s angry as all Hell.

You cross your arms over your chest, “You were scared that you’d come back to Miyagi one day and I’d have moved on, well take a look Satori - I obviously haven’t.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You can see the way his eyes shift from your eyes to your mouth. His entire torso is tense.

“I would’ve waited for you in that fucking airport for however long it took if that was what you asked of me.” You swallow hard, a side effect of holding off tears. “You were the one who insisted on breaking up.” When he doesn’t respond, you turn on your heel stomping off to your room (you only hoped your downstairs neighbours wouldn’t be too upset).

Satori is infuriating - he’s a coward, son of a bitch, who can’t see past his own selfishness. Hikaru hops up on your bed, staring at your tear-stained face with unblinking eyes. 

You hug him close as you drift off.

The next morning you find a note from Satori that he’d stay with Semi until going home. His bags are gone too.

* * *

The night of the reunion rolls around two days later. Haven’t heard a peep from Satori. Semi asked what happened. You told him you’d tell him later and then never did.

Despite your fight with Satori, you’re still going. It’s nice - dressing up for yourself, you deserve it with how hard you’ve been working. You’re glad you got wasted at Semi’s the other day because due to students remaining on the Shiratorizawa campus there was to be no drinking tonight. 

Sober. 

In a room with Satori. 

After a huge blowout. 

Oh, this would go swimmingly. Not.

It’s hot and sweaty inside the gym. Too many bodies crammed into one place, you suppose. Satori cleans up nice. He always has, but he looks more adult with his buzzcut. He’s joking around with Ōhira and Ushijima. It’s the way the sleeves are rolled up over his forearms, his dark purple button-up; it does something to you that you don’t think you should be feeling. 

The anger and hurt you’d initially felt have subsided for the most part, still the fights all you can think about. You shouldn’t have said anything, you should’ve just-

“Penny for your thoughts?” Semi says from beside you.

“How's your housemate?” Your eyes flit from your drink to him.

He sucks his teeth before responding, “You want me to answer as your friend or his?”

“There's a difference?”

“Yeah, a big one.”

“Unbiased, then.” You down the cup's contents at the same time, unintentionally. You think it’s more ceremonial than for your actual nerves considering there's nothing in the plastic that would make any of tonight any easier

“He cried the night of the fight.” It’s like a knife in your gut. “Said maybe three sentences over the past three days.” Semi starts walking and you mindlessly follow. “Why do you guys do this - we all think you’re going to get together and be happy but one of you picks a fight.”

You suck on your bottom lip, “I dunno, words just… slip out, we talk without thinking.” You reach the snack table, refilling your cups. Semi grabs an hors d'oeuvre, popping it into his mouth before grabbing two more.

“Well start thinking before you open your mouths - you’re both miserable without each other,” he says through a mouth of whatever he’d eaten, “when you guys get together it feels like everything's right - Tendō has someone to keep him in line and you have someone to push you out of your comfort zone. You guys need each other.”

You know you should apologize to Satori. 

So you do. Your pride isn’t hurt as easily as his. 

Satori’s sight catches on you the moment you begin making your way towards him, Semi trailing behind you. You look pretty. Actually pretty doesn’t even begin to describe you, but it’s the best he can come up with so he leaves it at that. Satori has to fight the urge to run - he knows it won’t do him any good to put this off, and it’ll be better for both of you to talk about it. 

He’s leaving tomorrow, you see - four in the afternoon.

“Can you take (L/n) outside? She needs some air.” Semi says before you can open your mouth. It’s clear that it’s directed towards Satori. You want to smack him - you could handle yourself, you didn’t need Semi to organize this for you. But would you have talked to Satori of your own volition? Probably not. You suppose you could pay for the drinks next time you were all out as a thank you.

Satori nods so quick that even if Ōhira or Ushijima had wanted to volunteer they had no time. He’s walking away without a word, you following closely behind feeling so extremely small behind his lanky form. You feel the need to shiver despite it being a humid night. 

He pulls a carton out of his back pocket when you get outside, then a lighter from his front.

“You smoke?”

“Not often.”

Then silence passes over you both, leaves rustling overhead as Satori lights the stick of tobacco. The scent invades your nose - herbal and earthy but not quite; to the left a bit. You wonder how things would’ve played out if he had smoked in high school.

Who the fuck are you kidding? You still would’ve fallen for him. 

“I didn’t smoke at your place if that's what you’re wondering,” he says, this far off look in his eyes as he takes another drag, “didn’t want the smoke sticking to your walls.” He chuckles slightly before adding an afterthought: “Thought you’d scold me, too-”

“I’m sorry.” A statement before he can finish. You take a breath before continuing, “For the stuff I said, for starting the fight, for-for not talking to you, and-” 

He doesn’t let you finish, moving at lightning speed until his lips are pressed against yours, disregarding the tears that had welled in your eyes. He doesn’t like it when you cry. 

He’s leaving tomorrow. Four PM, but should be there for two. He wants to feel you one last time before he’s on that plane. He hopes (more of a supplication, really) that you’ll let him.

The taste from him isn’t entirely unpleasant. It’s the still-burning cigarette and the punch from earlier mingling on your tongue. It’s the years of longing poured into the kiss as your hands fist his shirt and his hand pushes the back of your skull closer still. It’s his tongue licking the inside of your mouth until you’re both suffocating. Your bruised lips chase after his as he reluctantly pulls away, eyelashes fluttering as he stares down at your closed eyes.

“Come home with me?” These airy, desperate words leave your mouth, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Your eyes haven’t opened yet, worried that if you do you’ll find him silently laughing at you or worse looking at your pathetic, needy form with disgust.

If you were to open your eyes, you would find him wrestling with himself - if you rejected him it would be so much easier come morning to leave, but God if he didn’t want to, just one more time. Just one more time and he would feel at peace. The cigarette, long forgotten, singes his fingers that are placed too far down the stick; he hisses, pushing it farther down in an attempt to salvage the last few puffs.

“Yes.” Your eyes shoot open at the word. He taps off some ash from the cigarette, focusing on the embers as they fall to the ground. Despite his efforts, the stick is ruined. He lets it slip from his fingers, stomping on it when it hits the ground.

He stares at you with this intensity, before pulling you back to him. Lips vacuum-sealing against yours as he greedily explores your mouth as if he’s never done so before. “Car,” you gasp, “my car, third row.” He wants you right here and now but if it means your comfort he’ll wait the twenty minutes it takes to get to your apartment.

Twenty minutes feels like days, dragging on with every street corner and red light, pedestrians darting out into the road - he feels like he’s burning up and you don’t feel much better. It’s uncomfortable, the tension in your tiny metal box on wheels; you just want to feel his skin against yours but you know that the moment he touches you it’s all over, you’ll be putty in his hands (as if you aren’t already). 

As if you haven’t been wrapped around his finger for years.

You’re desperately grasping at the short hairs on his head as he presses his lips to yours, pushing you against your apartment door. He attempts to find your keys, groping you in the process and squeezing your hips when he can’t find them, begging you to take them out yourself so you can get out of the hallway. You can feel him pressing into you as you dig the small piece of metal out, pulling away so you can slip it into the lock and finally open the door.

Satori practically pushes you inside, hands never straying far from your skin as he shuts and locks the door behind him. He’s tripping in the dark of your apartment, trying to follow you to your bedroom, your laboured breaths filling the room as he debates pulling you down to the couch, unable to take the few steps to your bedroom. 

Both of your hands come up to cup his face, pulling his lips back to yours as you walk backwards, pulling him with you. It’s sloppy, the way your mouth glides over his as you stumble, pulling him on top of you when you reach your bed. His forearms rest beside your head. You’re looking at each other.

You both know it’s the last time, ever.

He’s leaving. Four PM flight, should be there for two. He has to leave your place before one. 

It’s the last time.

He takes his time, hand coming to cup your cheek. “Please don’t cry,” he whispers as he thumbs away tears.

“I can't help it.” You lean into his touch, hands gingerly coming up to his chest to start undoing his buttons. You feel his lips replace his thumb as he tenderly kisses away your tears. 

He pulls his legs onto the bed, kneeling beside you while you sit up, knees bent as his kisses migrate to your jaw, kissing the skin softly as he begins undressing you, articles of clothing becoming loose enough to tug off. He exposes your skin to himself, kissing every new piece he discovers - laboured breaths fill your room as you both grow unbearably warm, shedding the last of your overwear and bra while Satori’s slacks remain. 

You gasp as he sucks on your clavicle, “Satori, please.” 

He pulls away from your skin, staring down into your eyes, “Anything for you, princess.” His touches are feather light, almost as if you’ll break if he touches you too hard (or maybe he’d break - he’s not quite sure).

Your back arches, pushing your body farther into his hands. Your hands find the back of his neck, bringing your lips back to his. His hand slithers down your body, taking fistfuls of flesh when he can, squeezing you desperately - lovingly. His hand stops at your panty line, pulling away from your kiss to stare down at you.

“I need you to tell me you want this,” he says, eyebrows drawing together.

“I want this,” your hands cup his face, “I want you.” He feels so hot to the touch. His hand resumes, coming into contact with the wet spot on your underwear; you squirm, trying to get some semblance of friction.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, delving back into your neck. He wants to tell you he loves you, everything about you. He almost whispers it against your neck when his fingers press against your clit through your panties.

Your fingers grip his shoulders at the sudden pressure, eyebrows drawing together as you bite into your bottom lip. Your thighs twitch as he begins drawing slow circles, “ _Muh_ -more, please.” You knew it - putty in his hands. 

He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to, pulling your panties down as you lift your hips, one thigh pressing into his side while the other falls onto the bed, exposing your slick folds to him. Two fingers - middle and ring - slide past his lips, coating them in his spit; the middle one slides in first, slowly.

Your walls tense around the single digit, a whine leaving your throat as he moves his finger, adding the second not too long after. His fingers dragging along your gummy walls - they’ve always felt good. He pumps in and out, scissoring out slightly so that it burns just a little and _oh fuck_ , his thumbs on your clit again. He knows you like the back of his hand, even after all this time, he remembers the right speed, the right rhythm, knows exactly where that little-

“ _Sah_ -Satori!” he’s toying with that spongy spot inside your cunt, curling his fingers into it as his thumb moves harshly against your bundle of nerves. Your back arches, thighs almost snapping shut.

“C’mon, princess, cum for me,” he begs as you sporadically tighten around his fingers, your forehead resting at the crook of his neck. You’re squirming against his digits, nearly fucking yourself on them. You’re so close, just a little more and you’ll be there. “Let me take care of you.”

Two more curls of his fingers and your tense, clutching his back as your orgasm washes over you, hips grinding into his fingers. High-pitched moans and keens falling from your lips as you coat his fingers - they haven’t stilled, only slowed to help you ride out your bliss. 

Your hips chase his fingers as he pulls them from you, but you halt when you hear him groan above you - you glance up and find him with his fingers in his mouth.

“Tastes good,” he mutters.

“Fuck me.” You let it slip so effortlessly, oxytocin must still be clouding your brain. “Please?” It’s an afterthought to be polite (like he’d deny you anyways).

He doesn’t say a word, just stands up as he fumbles with his belt, reaching into his back pocket to fish out his wallet. He all but drops the leather rectangle to the floor once he has what he needs: a small foil packet. 

The rest of his clothes are kicked off until he’s naked save for the piece of latex rolled over his cock - it’s rock hard against his stomach. He pushes you back, settling between your legs with enough force to make you both bounce just slightly - you share a single breathless laugh at that. 

One forearm rests beside your head, the other on your hip, his forehead rests against yours as he slides in; you wince and let out a huff, clutching the back of his head as he pushes in half way - it burns so much more than you remember. His breath fans over your face and when you open your eyes to take a peek you find his beautiful face screwed up, bottom lip trapped between his teeth and breathing raggedly.

“So good for me,” he pushes in a little more, making sure to praise you when you start to squirm, kissing down your neck and nipping to distract you from the stretch. He bottoms out before he knows it, the hand on your hip moves to play with your clit so you’ll adjust faster. 

You hook a leg around his waist, “You, you can move now, it’s okay.” It’s gentle at first, just him lightly rocking his hips against yours. He fills you up so well that you let out a shaky sigh. He’s thrusting deeper and rolling your clit more aggressively, bites down on your shoulder as you tighten around him, impossibly further when he starts mouthing at his chest. Skin snapping against skin, lewd sounds coming from your pussy as Satori fucks you, it makes you hazy, you’re not quite sure what you’re saying or if it’s even words at all.

He thrusts faster, groaning as you clench around him. Between how much he wants you and your previous orgasm, he’s almost there and knows you are too. You pull him up from your chest, hands on his cheeks; he leans into one and kisses your palm as he hits a particularly deep spot, making you keen and squirm under him, fingers digging in behind his ears.

You pull his lips to yours, moaning into his mouth as he presses his thumb to your clit - the harsh pressure on your clit and his deep thrusts nearly has you falling over the edge, back arching into him as his hips begin to stutter.

“I love you,” he pants against your lips, hips stilling against you as you gush around him - his fingers keep moving, riding out your second orgasm as your hips buck into him. He collapses against you once you stop squirming, chests heaving as his face rests in the crook of your neck. “I love you.” He repeats. 

He’s sweaty, you’re sweaty - it should be gross but it’s not; you quite like just laying with him. You run your fingers over the short hairs at his nape - he likes it when you run your fingers through his hair, even if it’s shorter now you’ll still scratch his scalp for him. You press kisses to the spot above his ear; it’s far too tender for two people who aren’t together. You both grimace as he pulls out, emptiness feeling foreign to you at the moment and the cold getting to him through the latex. 

He wanders across the hall and you hear water running, something landing in the plastic bag of your trash bin. The water runs just a bit too long. He returns with a washcloth. It’s soft when the cloth glides over your skin, never scrubbing harshly - you should shower, but you think this might all go away if you leave your bed. He leaves again, coming back quicker this time.

He’s not sure if he should stay in bed with you - he could just throw his boxers back on and sleep on the couch, put his actual clothes back on and do the walk of shame back to Semi’s; he’d be an asshole but he’d save himself a lot of heartache. But he takes one look at you and decides he can’t be an asshole with you, not anymore.

He crawls in beside you, rolling onto his side as you do the same, his hand cups your cheek, running his thumb along it. He presses another kiss to your lips, then one on top of your eyelid, then the other, then your nose, and anywhere he can reach until you start giggling. He pulls back, admiring the smile on your face as one spreads across his.

“I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” you whisper, hand resting atop his, “it eats me up inside.” You lean into his palm, kissing it.

He pulls you against his chest, resting his chin on top of your head. “I would give anything to stay with you,” he feels you shiver and pulls the blanket tighter around you, “right here, forever.” Your arms slither around him and he does the same. 

“You could come live with me in Paris,” he says, “we could take care of each other.”

“I don’t speak a lick of French.” You speak into his chest.

“I could teach you - you’ve always been a fast learner.”

Quiet passes over the two of you; there's quiet footsteps - Hikaru running around in the middle of the night. You don’t speak a word to each other the rest of the night.

* * *

You wake up to an empty bed.

Well, nearly empty - Hikaru is curled up at your feet. But Satori’s not there. You frown for a second before you hear it: muffled cursing and clattering in the kitchen. He's trying to cook.

He never was good at breakfasts. 

Stumbling off of your bed, you grab a new pair of underwear and a t-shirt from your pile of clean laundry that has yet to be put away. Hikaru follows close behind, staying on the couch as you round the corner into the kitchen. Satori’s holding a pan under running water, something black is in the pan. Glancing at the time, you see it's nine AM.

“Sorry, I tried making something and, well-” 

He’s in his boxers. You suppose you can’t question him considering you're wearing only one article more.

You hadn’t noticed last night but they’re novelty - the Adlers logo is printed across the fabric.

“It’s fine, sit down; I’ll make us something.” 

He sheepishly puts the pan down, lingering just a second too long. He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it, pursing his lips and continuing to your small table.

Looking at the countertops you can’t even figure out what he was trying to make - there are varying ingredients but none of them really come together to make anything. It’s going to be a long day; getting his stuff from Semi’s, the drive to the airport, the goodbye once inside the airport, his flight home, and your drive home. 

You think you’ll end up sitting in the parking lot crying after he’s boarded the plane. “I’ve got steamed buns in the freezer.” You say, putting a box of something you didn’t even know you owned in a cabinet, “I know it’s not a great first meal but we could get something at the airport too or something on the way?” You don’t know if you can actually eat.

He nods, “I can throw your sheets in the wash if you want - while you’re putting the buns on, I mean.” You hum affirmatively because you can’t voice that you wouldn’t mind your sheets smelling like him just a little longer, even if they were gross. 

He gets up while you continue putting containers away. 

He used to be more talkative on mornings like these. These are extenuating circumstances, though. Usually, he’d have cracked at least two jokes by now, maybe tried to embarrass you - he definitely would have wrapped his arms around you by now and littered your neck and cheeks with playful, wet kisses that leave you giggling.

You hear him shut the door to the washing machine, a few seconds pass before you hear it startup.

You want to go with him. You want to pack a bag, take Hikaru, and tell your landlord that you’re leaving and you’re not coming back - _“I’m moving to Paris, you see, my friends will collect my stuff before the end of the week.”_

You can’t, though. 

You decide to put on the entire package of steamed buns - Satori’s always had a big appetite and the package had already been opened from last week; any longer and they’d develop freezer burn.

His arms wrap around you and you feel the strangest sense of peace and anguish. You lean into him, running your fingers over his scalp. There's not a smile to be seen in the room, though. 

The drive to Semi’s is stiflingly quiet; you don’t know how the goodbye went in between them, you stayed in the car.

He tells you that Ushijima and Ōhira were there.

It’s about thirty minutes into your drive when he grips the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel. He runs his thumbs over your knuckles, humming to whatever's playing on the radio.

You nearly have to pull over. “I meant what I said,” you swallow the bile invading your mouth, “I really do still love you.”

He doesn’t respond, only squeezes your hand tighter.

Who knows - maybe one day you’ll meet someone that makes you feel the way Satori does; maybe you’ll grow tired of waiting for someone else and just move to virtually the other side of the globe; maybe he’ll move on one day and you’ll let yourself do the same; maybe he’ll call you out of the blue one day, asking if you want to try the whole long-distance thing.

“I’ll text you when I land.” He says in front of security. He’s gripping your hands tightly.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please leave a comment and kudos, they really make my day!


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